


somewhere between the lines

by limned



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limned/pseuds/limned
Summary: If he’s going to keep trying to silently twist them into something else, it’s her job to stop it.





	somewhere between the lines

She knows it’s him without opening her eyes, even barely out of sleep. Other people might be able to bypass the double security systems, but Natasha’s subconscious won’t let anyone except Clint walk through her apartment without going on full alert. She’s already dozing again when the mattress shifts.

Clint moves carefully enough that it takes her some fuzzy amount of time to realize what’s happened. She had fallen asleep curled around one of her pillows and he nudged it away and crawled in to replace it with his body. She’s lying pressed along his back, one arm wrapped securely around his chest.

He’s warm and solid, and he’s not moving. His hand is resting over her fingers on his chest but he isn’t stroking them or making any other attempt to wake her. He’s just lying there, breathing deep.

It feels so comfortable that she could easily drift back to sleep again.

_Dammit, Clint._

He’s been doing this kind of thing more often over the last few months. Often enough that it’s become both irritating and a little scary; she can’t let him get away with it. One of them needs to be smart. If he’s going to keep trying to silently twist them into something else, it’s her job to stop it.

Natasha tightens her arm around his chest, stretching deliberately to rub her body against him. “You’re supposed to wake me up, Barton,” she says, chiding, her voice thick with sleep.

She doesn’t miss the slight tensing in his shoulders before he relaxes again, but he just laughs a little and mumbles, “Yeah, sorry.”

 _No, you’re not,_ she wants to say, but doesn’t.

He’s still wearing his t-shirt and boxers. She leans up to press her lips above his collar, the place on his neck that always makes him shiver. It works so well that she doesn’t stop, kissing along his nape and under his ear. He’s shifting restlessly against her by the time she slides her hand to trace over his nipples.

Clint’s breath goes out in a gust. “Nat,” he moans, which is exactly what she wanted—his nipples are sensitive enough that they’re like a wire straight down to his cock, especially when he’s already worked up. She traces back and forth in turns, drawing them into tight peaks, pinching with her fingertips through the soft cotton until he’s breathing hard, fighting not to squirm as her hand slips under his shirt.

It’s annoying her and turning her on in equal measure that he’s being so passive, that he hasn’t even tried to touch her yet. His stomach muscles jump when her hand moves to stroke down over his abdomen. He shifts to lean slightly back against her. “Nat,” he says again, almost pleading.

“What?” she asks, soft and mocking, and sinks her teeth lightly on the curve of his ear. She runs her fingers low enough to almost touch his cock. “Something you want?”

Clint turns his head. His lips are close enough that she feels his breath on her cheek when he whispers, “You.”

Natasha’s throat tightens for an instant, angry and hot and tense—he isn’t supposed to _do that_ , he’s supposed to murmur something filthy like he’s done a hundred times before—and she pushes up to fist her other hand in his hair, jerks his head back roughly and grips his cock at the same time.

The sound he makes is gorgeous. She kisses him hard, nipping at his tongue, stroking him tight and fast. His cock is already leaking against the inside of her wrist and he’s so hard that she knows it wouldn’t take much more.

She can tell exactly when he’s almost there, the way his body tightens and his back arches and his breath starts to hitch, and she stops.

Clint groans into her mouth, tries to rock his hips, tries to fuck her hand but she doesn’t give him anything, her fingers loose and barely cupped around him. “Not yet,” she hisses, and bites down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from talking because— _god_ , she wants to tear him apart. She pulls him over on his back and he goes easily, a liquid roll like he was ready before she touched him.

For an instant she regrets it. The room isn’t dark enough that she can miss the way he’s looking up at her face, but she shoves it aside and climbs on top of him.

It’s a relief when she takes off her shirt and his eyes shift to her breasts, even though he still isn’t moving to touch. She yanks at his t-shirt until he cooperates, peels it off. The thick flexing of muscle in his arms and chest is mesmerizing like always, and she leans down to bite at the curve of his shoulder, keeping the pressure on until he makes a harsh noise and grabs her hips.

Natasha starts to grin in triumph that he’s finally participating, not just letting her maul him. It gets lost when he pushes up, his cock pressing against the silk of her panties and dragging a delicious slick friction between her legs. “Fuck, you’re soaking wet already,” he says.

She’s instantly wetter because she loves that, his voice low and rough in her ear and his hands hard on her body, and she braces over him, relishing the way his fingers clench and pull. She’s going to have bruises tomorrow and she doesn’t care, not when he’s panting against her neck and whispering, “Come on, Nat, jesus, you feel so good.”

He should know better than to think she’d let him come this way, but he still moans in protest when she breaks his grip.

Her body feels like it’s buzzing all over with how quickly she’s gone from asleep to rutting furiously against him, zero to sixty, so hot she can hardly stand it. She yanks his boxers down and off, kneels back, and takes his cock to the back of her throat.

Clint’s body jerks in helpless reaction; he tries to thrust up and she shoves him flat with her palms braced on his hips.

She works him to the edge twice, sucking wet and filthy, squeezing her thighs together for the friction as he shakes underneath her. For a while it’s perfect, how he keeps trying to fuck into her throat, twisting for leverage and spreading his legs— _right, dream on, Barton,_ she thinks viciously, because nothing would get him off faster than if she started fingering him, they both know that—and it’s even better when his hands finally sink into her hair.

But it goes sideways when Clint doesn’t tighten his grip. She’s ready for it, _wants_ it, braced for that perfect ache as he holds her still, and he doesn’t.

His hands stay light, fingertips stroking and cradling her head even as he chokes out fractured begging sounds, and this isn’t right; he shouldn’t be touching her so carefully, not when she’s edging him for the third time.

 _Stop it,_ Natasha wants to snarl, but she can’t, because—because she doesn’t want to hear what he would say back. This is starting to feel so loaded that a coil of fear twists inside her, like they could tip over at any moment and she won’t be able to haul them back.

She pulls off and his cock slaps against his belly, red and wet, and Clint groans hoarsely. When she looks up, his eyes are squeezed shut and his forehead creased like he’s in pain. “Nat, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he gasps, and his hands are still cupped gently around her head, but he looks so wrecked with arousal that the fear loosens and eases off a little, just enough. This is the part that feels safe.

His skin is damp with sweat as she crawls up his body, rubbing her cheek along his ribs, pausing to bite at one of his nipples until he groans again and curls his hands more firmly around her back. “Fuck, you’re evil. Quit teasing.”

Natasha isn’t teasing, not really; she’s so wet that she’s almost dripping, wants to fuck him so badly she feels close to losing control. This has somehow turned into torturing herself as much as him, aching with how much she wants his cock inside her. She doesn’t wait for his help to strip off her panties, and her arms are shaking a little as she lifts up and slides into position.

Clint makes a pained sound when the tip of his cock nudges against the slick heat of her cunt. “Wait, just—just give me a minute,” he says between his teeth, hands tightening on her hips again. “Too close, Nat, I can’t last. Wait a minute.”

She’s briefly tempted to do it anyway, just to see how fast she could make him come, but self-interest wins out.

“Okay,” she says. She finds herself smiling a little as she leans down to brush his lips. “You need to make it worth my while, though.”

Clint grins at her, his eyes half-lidded, dazed with sex, and she parts her lips, kissing him languid and wet. He breaks off long enough to growl, “I love how you taste after you suck me,” and strains up to kiss her harder, his tongue licking greedily into her mouth.

She can’t help shifting a little so his cock moves against her clit, pressing and sliding, a jolt of almost vicious pleasure. She moans without intending it, and doesn’t even feel annoyed when Clint’s lips curve into a smile because this is good, this is _perfect_ , the two of them taking each other apart in the middle of the night, the dim safe light of her bed, his fingers wrapped tight around her hips.

It’s a frustrating angle where Natasha has to fight to keep the pressure just right; she can’t concentrate on kissing him and drops her face to bury it in his neck, her breath speeding up as she tries to hold back her moans, her clit throbbing as she rocks against the slick head of his cock. “Jesus fuck, you better be ready soon,” she grits out.

“Impatient,” Clint breathes into her ear, and the next second he’s twisting over and wrestling her down on her back.

She doesn’t try to fight for position, spreading for him before she’s fully down and thank _god_ he isn’t trying to be gentle now, because she thinks she might actually kill him if he did. He shoves into her, brutal pressure that stretches her wide because it doesn’t matter how wet she is, it’s been more than a week since they did this and she bites down on his shoulder to muffle her cries when the pressure builds, she was already so close, and a dozen hard thrusts and his rough voice in her ear again, “Come on my cock, yeah, that’s it,” and she arches against him, glorious and half-painful and _so good_ , her fingers clawing desperately into his shoulders, shaking apart and clenching tight around him.

He’s still hard when she’s able to focus again, his thrusts slower. She can feel his eyes on her before she opens her own.

Clint is so close, watching her, that soft _(dangerous)_ look that’s becoming way too familiar, and it’s harder to push away when she’s shivering against him in the aftermath of her orgasm, muscles flexing involuntarily around his cock. She doesn’t even know what he’s seeing on her face and that’s all wrong; she’s supposed to have better control.

Her throat is starting to tighten with fear again.

There’s a tiny change in his expression—as much as they aren’t talking about any of this, he _knows_ , she isn’t kidding herself—and he hooks his arm under her right knee and pushes it to her shoulder, opening her wider. She draws in a harsh breath as his cock sinks deeper. “Clint,” she chokes out. She barely has enough leverage to rock her hips to meet him, but she tries, and also tries desperately to concentrate on how his cock feels and not the way she just slipped and said his first name in bed.

Natasha has an instant to see the hungry, aching look on his face before he kisses her.

His mouth is fierce and possessive like he’s trying to mark her, biting at her lips, his tongue pressing hard against hers, and she responds gratefully because this is something else she can handle: kissing like a fight, battling to see who can draw the strongest reaction.

The fight is over quickly when Clint shifts on his knees and starts to fuck her harder. She makes a low strangled sound against his mouth and tears away to gasp for air. Her body has tightened up again and the friction of his cock is stretching, slick and incredible, pushing so deep, the new angle with her thigh pushed to her shoulder changing the sensations completely. His cock is curving enough to glance over her g-spot every second or third stroke.

She doesn’t mean to say anything but it comes out in a sharp cry anyway, “God, oh _god_ , just like that, _don’t stop_ ,” with her hands grasping at the sweat-slick muscles of his back, trying to pull him closer, and Clint’s fingers wrap around her jaw and he pants, “You feel so good, Nat, want you to come again,” against her cheek and she can feel exactly how hard he’s trying to hold off.

It happens fast after that, a rush of Clint driving ruthlessly into her and whispering filthy half-incoherent words against her skin, his body pinning her down and she can’t _get there_ , it’s not enough, but when she tries to force one hand between their bodies he does it first, thumbing her clit roughly and her whole body locks up as she comes, dimly aware that she’s muffling a scream against his shoulder. He follows seconds later, groaning low in his chest, holding deep and she can feel his cock throbbing inside her.

Her brain is so disconnected that she has no idea how long they stay like that, pressed close, breathing together and coming down slowly.

Clint moves first. He eases her leg down but doesn’t move to pull out. His other hand is still wrapped around her jaw, and he tilts it toward him and she feels the warmth of his breath right before he whispers, “Natasha,” and kisses her.

It’s slow and quiet and achingly gentle: everything that she’s been trying to deflect for months.

Natasha knows what she needs to do: roll him and pin him down, work him over until he’s hard again and fuck him until _he_ screams, fuck him until he understands that they’re exactly this, nothing more, draw the line as precisely as she’d been doing for the last year. That, or kick him out immediately because they can’t have this anymore.

She doesn’t know why she isn’t doing either one.


End file.
